


Promises, Promises

by naznahl



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ass Play, Blow Jobs, Brief References to Drinking/Behaving Drukenly, Intercrural Sex, More Bratty Behavior, Non-Gendered Warrior of Light, Other, Size Difference, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29848458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naznahl/pseuds/naznahl
Summary: You're next to Raubahn on your shared bed in your shared home and he'd promised to touch you in the morning but he's still asleep and you want him now.
Relationships: Raubahn Aldynn/Reader, Raubahn Aldynn/Warrior of Light
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Promises, Promises

**Author's Note:**

> this is a happily ever after to [please, please](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29735316)

So maybe you had been out of control and maybe you had been misbehaving to get a rise out of him last night at the bar. Not that it'd worked, to your great sorrow. He'd just flung you over his shoulder and let you kick at him as he carried you back to your home. A home that you share, your home together. It makes your heart burst with love to think about it. 

He'd laid you gently upon the bed - your bed, his bed, where you and he have sat, slept, shared secrets, and had sex so often now - and pressed you into the mattress refusing to do any of the things you begged him to do to you. 

“You're not thinking right,” he'd told you as you tried to yank him into bed with you, “that's your inhibited drunkenness speaking, you lecherous fool.” 

“No, no, you don't understand, I'm always thinking like this about you, I always want you like this, in my mouth and my ass. All the time, all the fucking time. I thought you knew me, I thought you knew this about me, I want you in my mouth all the time, please, Raubahn, please don't leave me wanting like this. Don't leave me ever.” 

You'd whined and pleaded and begged with all your slurring strength, and he'd ignored you. He'd ignored _you,_ his lover, his partner in all things. You can't stand him. His honor is so useless to you. But you love him for it, too. You love the way he always lets you dance him around on a cliff's edge without ever letting you tilt off into the abyss. 

He'd turned his back to you and closed his eyes, shutting you out as you kissed his shoulder and pulled at his arm, ranting all your desires into his scars and skin with no common decency left in your body. He'd only moved when you tried to yank his hip to try to get at his cock, dragging you away and giving you a firm look to set a limit with your behavior. You'd just gone back to crying into his neck, sobbing out of need until you tired yourself out. 

He waited until you quieted before turning to embrace you. “You always behave like a rabid beast when you get a bit of liquor in you. It would be charming if I did not have to bear the brunt of your behavior.” 

“It is charming. You do think I'm charming,” you’d sniffled as he wiped your tears off your face. 

“It is, you are. I swear I’ll take care of you in the morning, when we both have better heads on our shoulders.” 

He'd smiled so sweetly at you that you'd wrapped your arms around him and forgiven him all his exhaustion instantly. 

But now it's morning - well, close to it, you can almost see the edge of dawn - and you decide that you don't forgive him. His snoring wakes you and you lurch out of bed in need for water, your shaking legs unhappy with gravity. 

When you return to his side - far too awake from years of needing to be alert immediately upon rising - he's still asleep and still snoring. You crouch next to him, running your fingers over the braids in his hair, admiring the grey of them. You have a gentle, possessive need to know how many of the strands are silvered because of you. It's such an ache to see him age like this, but you would never refuse the opportunity. 

And besides, you're not so apart in age that you aren't aware that he's seen you grow less boisterous over the years as well, a little slower to heal from your casual injuries. He's even caught you behaving cautiously so as to not get hurt and it'd made him laugh in such a way you'll hold the memory dear forever. 

He looks so beautiful sleeping but he can't touch you if he's not awake so you dig a nail into his side, pressing through the soft layer of him until you reach the muscle underneath. He startles awake, the same immediate alertness as yours in his eyes. He peers sharply into shadowed corners of the room before his gaze settles on you staring down at him. 

You give him a wicked smile. “Good morning, I love you. Can you fuck me now?” 

“You're a terror,” he groans, a heavy chested sound that rumbles through your body just as much as his.

“A rabid beast, if I remember correctly.” 

“Why do you do this to me?” 

“Because, as I said, I love you. I _adore_ you.” You start to drag the covers off him, wanting to see if he's got morning wood waiting for you. He doesn't, but you're not disappointed at all, knowing that this means you get to bring him to life completely on your own.

He stirs more into waking, stretching his body and groaning again as something somewhere in him doesn't move right. He rubs at his eyes, massaging them with his fingers to work out the sleepy headache you've given him as a gift. 

“Why do you deserve to get fucked this early?”

“Because I was so good for you last night,” you say, tilting your head at him. “Because I'm always good for you.” 

He huffs, an edge of a rasping laugh on his voice. “Hardly.”

“Absolutely.” You replace the covers you removed from him with your splayed thighs as you straddle him, squeezing in on his sides to feel the plushness of him. He returns the gesture with a hand on your calf, pressing in with his fingers. 

“Raubaaaaaahn,” you say, drawling his name out into a moan. “Fuck me. You promised.” 

“I fear that I physically can not cater to you as of now, no matter how much you plead with me.” He gestures at himself and you flip your position on his torso to turn your back to him, starting to yank down his pants to look at his body. Just as you had already thought, he's soft but that doesn't mean anything to you in the face of his promise.

“But I want you to.” 

“While I don't doubt you could tempt whole nations into ceding to your whims, even you can't fight against the basic truths of anatomy. I'm tired and hungover, sweet.” 

“Let me try anyway?” you blink at him, ignoring his words. You don't want whole nations, you never have. You want him, always.

“It's you, so I suspect you'll sneak a victory as you always do.” 

“I've never won against you, actually,” you remind him. It breaks your heart the foolish man didn't take your confessions from the previous night seriously. You have and always will simply just want him, even if it's obsessive of you. You'll make him understand one day, which is your promise to him. 

You fuss at him, pulling at his clothes so you can look at his great, big expanse of skin, the rough of silver-black hair that covers nearly every inch of him. His sides have gotten softer since you first got him to fuck you, and you love the fact that the change is noticeable to you - more so than that, the fact that you can _feel_ the change is such an exquisite pleasure. 

Your mouth waters as you look at his limp cock resting against his thigh, dark and velvet against his skin. His legs are spread open lazily for you to nestle in between them, and he takes a moment to rub a thumb against your forehead before you start on him. You don't have words for how much you adore him, really, but you do have an absolute need to show him. 

You put his soft cock in your mouth, rolling your tongue around the heavy head before swallowing him down while it's still easy to do. It's not a new sensation to you, as you've tricked and bullied him into hardness from nothing before. Sometimes for you but always for him, the silly man who never stops to worry about his own pleasures. It's fun to you, to work at him with your mouth and tongue and a little edge of teasing teeth until his thigh starts twitching under you. 

It's so easy to suck at him like this, you think you can do it forever, swallowing his cock down to rub him against the palate of your mouth. Your hand runs over his stomach, sliding the edge of your nails against his ribs so he shivers under your touch. 

He's got his arm thrown over his face, his mouth still visible and slightly open as he starts to stir awake. You breathe a sigh through your nose, disturbing the landscape of his neatly trimmed pubic hair and making him give you a sigh in return as the blow of air from you brushes sensitive against his balls. 

You continue your easy licking of him, your heart beating a little quicker as you feel him start to swell into your mouth. You reach up unseeingly over his chest to find a nipple to scratch your nails at. When you do, his thigh twitches enough that you shift a little with the rocking of it, his cock gently touching against your teeth with the movement. And then he's hard enough that you can't swallow him completely without careful breathing effort, and it thrills a pleasure throughout your own body. 

“Ha!” you mumble in triumph, your mouth still full of him. 

He laughs so loudly the bed shakes underneath you. “Aye,” he gasps, not able to string a sentence together, much to your satisfaction. 

You slide your mouth off him, hollowing out your cheeks to give him a final wet, deep suck. You admire your work, his cock standing in curving attention at you, wet with your saliva. You place a delighted kiss against his head before snapping your intense gaze to meet his. 

“Raubahn.” 

“Aye, aye, I know,” he says. He groans, shifting up in the bed to sit up, pulling his hips away from you so your chin drops to the bed. You sigh, rubbing your face into the sheets and pressing your own hips against the bed in shameless need. This is taking so long, and he's too far away from your mouth, it has to be immoral for him to do this to you. 

He yawns again, and you hear him scratching his nails against his beard, sending little slices of pleasure through your skull at the sound. He roots around in the pillow case for the vial of liquid he'd stashed under his head to keep it from you yesterday. 

You tire of waiting for him, so you crawl up the length of his body to kiss his mouth with his wetness still on your tongue. 

“I'm dying,” you announce to him as he grimaces at the shared taste. 

“You're not dying.” 

“I am, you're killing me.” You reach past him to pull at the corner of the bed so he can leverage his hand into the crevice between the wall and headboard to find the bottle. He holds it out to you and you both consider it, looking at how close to empty it is. 

“How do you want me, as your last wish then?” he asks, kissing the tip of your nose. You instantly move to kiss his nose back, remembering all of a sudden how you adore his nostrils. 

You sniff in affront. “I don't want to wait for you to be happy with stretching me open, so,” you consider the crow’s feet around his eyes from smiling at you, just as he's doing now, “fuck me with your cock between my thighs.” 

“Then go lie on your stomach, sweet.” 

You do, a small delight jumping through you at having him take control, finally. You spread yourself out on your stomach, on your shared bed, grief overwhelming you in the seconds he gets off the bed to when he returns to settle in between your thighs. 

He nudges your legs open so he can pour the lubricant between your cheeks, careful with the amount he uses so as to not waste it. He runs his hand over and under you, coating you with liquid to make the slide of him against you easier later. 

The combination of his rough hand and the lush liquid is so much you jerk involuntarily, trying to buck yourself into his hand while sliding up the bed in the shock of pleasure at the same time. 

“Come back here.” He grabs your hips and pulls you onto his lap so that you can try to lock your legs behind his back to drag him back into your body. 

“Raubahn, ‘s not my thighs,” you slur slightly into the sensation starting to fog your brain, “and that's not your cock. You're so cruel, you never listen to me.” 

“Hush for a while.” He rubs a thumb across your ass, stretching the muscle of you just to look at you. “You're always prettier here than I remember,” he mumbles, low enough you think you weren't supposed to hear it. 

“I am always pretty for you, you just don't appreciate it enough.” _For you, for you_. It's always the chant you return to with him. It's something you think he doesn't notice, or at least never calls attention to. All of you has always been for all of him, and he thinks it's too obsessive for you to point it out. He's so cruel to you, you can't cry about it enough. 

“I do, you imp.” 

You whine, pressing your face into the pillow and pushing up on your hands, your knees still in his lap as you push your ass into his face without any shame. 

“Put your mouth on me if you're so worried about me being wet enough.” 

He huffs at you, your bare skin tingling with his breath on the cold lubricant, enough stimulation that you curl your body in pleasure. He doesn't try to continue to argue with you, however, thankfully, and just runs his tongue along the seam of your ass. You moan, immediately electric at his mouth on you and even better, _in_ you.

You peek down between the fold of your arms to watch him stroke himself lazily as he licks you, hungry to have him back in your mouth already. You curse whatever god made it so there's only one of him, keeping you from being held by him and holding him everywhere, all the time. You want him everywhere you have skin, him touching every inch of you. 

He takes care to coat you in lubricant and saliva, rubbing whatever excess he has to your front, making you twist and cry out. You're only able to stay in place by his grip on your hip, bruisingly tight but you love that too. He knows you love it, which is why he's doing it, even if he'll grouse at you for the marks he’ll leave behind. 

When he's finally satisfied with his work, you're a panting mess in his lap, a wet spot of come on the sheets you'll have to think about washing later, or at least trick him into washing for you. He moves his face away to admire his work and you whine, pressing back at the empty air where he's left you wanting, almost kicking him in the face. 

“Calm down, fix yourself on your hands and knees for me,” he says, his voice rough from making sure you're wet enough for him. You've been wet enough for centuries, you think, it must've been that long. You can't believe you thought he wouldn't be this thorough with you if you didn't ask him to penetrate you. He's always so uselessly gentle with you. You never asked him to be.

You adore him, and he makes you weep, so you listen to him and fix yourself on your hands and knees. You're almost sobbing from the lack of him. “Raubahn, please.”

“When will you stop being so greedy?” he grouses at you, balancing himself on his knees behind you to slot your bodies together. He braces himself against your shoulder as he tries to slide his cock between your thighs. 

“Never, absolutely never, when it's for you,” you reach back a hand to rest against where he's trying not to put too much weight on you. “Put your body on me. It’ll be easier, and I want you close to me.” 

He pauses, considering how well he can balance on the bed while thrusting against you with just a hand on your shoulder. He’s done it before, when he was younger and less hungover in the morning afters before, but he's tipping over slightly now, which you can feel through the bed trembling under your knees. 

“Ruabahn, I want to feel you on me, please,” you insist at his hesitation. 

He listens, still trying to keep his weight mostly on his knees, but putting his stomach - and oh, gods, wait, yes, the heaviness of his chest and stomach against you, the rough hair of him rubbing against your back, you could die in bliss at the feeling. Your eyes almost roll back into your head as you moan, loud and needy, at the body contact of him. He puts his arm over your shoulder, bracing as much as he can on it. 

“Gods, yeah, I like this, so, so much,” you turn your face and he also realizes the benefits of this position immediately as he reaches for your mouth at the same time. You kiss him, as greedy as he's accused you of being, as you reach behind yourself on the other side of him to pull his cock between your thighs. 

You both separate your mouths to sigh-moan in pleasure at the full length of his cock against you. He makes eye contact with you, and again, you really should be praised for bullying him into lying on top of you. He so rarely does in his fears of crushing you under him, for whatever reason thinking you’re made of glass. It adds so much to the experience for him to watch you moan open-mouthed right into his face so that the air of you flutters his eyelashes.

He sets a fast rhythm for you, thank the gods, because he's not afraid of hurting you like this, the slap of his thighs against your ass sounding out so loudly that it makes you almost as wild as the actual feeling of his cock between your thighs. It's electric, it burns you, and you clench your thighs as tightly as possible, the desire to consume him inside yourself overtaking your soundness of mind.

His abdomen rubs against your back as he thrusts against the cage of your thighs, creating a sweet friction that makes you bend your back into him, willing him to put more of his weight onto you, to feel more of his hair burn your skin. He kisses at your cheeks and chin, your shoulder where he can reach, his own need for you all in his mouth as he breathes heavy and hot in your ear. 

You reach a hand down, trying to catch his cock against your palm, and he groans when you do, your combined wetness hot against your palm as his head thrusts against your hand.

“I love you, I do, so much,” you cry into his mouth, “This is how I want to be buried when we die. Maybe with your cock inside me then, but just like this, all of you on top of me.” You moan, gasping and sobbing into him, your body and his rocking together with his every thrust.

He’s making the sound in the back of his throat that he makes when he doesn’t know if he wants to tell you to be quiet or keep talking, panting roughly at each slam of his hips against you. You kiss him, not giving him the chance to speak as you remove your hand from between your thighs to show him where your combined come is stretching out between your fingers. 

“You’re, you’re absolutely ridiculous,” he groans. Despite his objections to you, he closes his eyes, starting to shudder at the sight of your fingers and your wide-eyed wonder at him as you fall apart. 

“Oh, my sweet, look at me, look at me, I love you so much,” you sob, pressing your wet fingertips against his jaw, “I miss you already, come back.” You’re aching, far beyond the feeling of your orgasm overtaking you, which it is, hazing your vision over. You fight it, not wanting to ever take your eyes off of him.

“I’m not - I’m not,” he says, his thrusts becoming erratic against you, slower and more of a rocking of your hips together than true forceful movement as he starts to slow down with his oncoming orgasm, “I’m not leaving you.” 

He comes, the splatter of heat against your stomach making you clench your legs tighter, holding him in the coffin of your body. You move your hand back down between your thighs as he rasps a groan, pressing his nose against your shoulder as he keeps up the rock of his hips against yours, steady and stabilizing against you until you come as well. You cry your orgasm into a lock of his hair as he presses a kiss against your cheek to kiss off a tear.

“I love you, I do, I really love you, thank you,” you cry, squeezing him one more time before your thighs give out and you slump your hips down, him on top of you. Keeping his weight on you for a few more breaths, whether because he’s forgotten or because he’s finally realized you can bear it. You run a hand down his side for no reason other than you want to feel him on your palm.

“I love you, imp,” he says, yawning in your ear, “I am tired, though.” 

“Then sleep. I have no more promises to hold you to, I suppose,” you say, sniffling as he readjusts himself, no longer on top of you with his weight. 

At the least, he keeps you pressed to him as he turns you both to the side so you can still feel his hard body against you as you sigh together. There’s a drying wet stain on the sheets and on your thighs, but you think if you don’t speak about it, he’ll forget it and neither of you will have to get up to clean it. You have no desire to move right now. 

“In fact, I would say that you have many and will always find reasons to invent more.” He says, kissing the edge of your ear.

“We can see about that when it’s truly morning. Sleep, love.” 


End file.
